


The Fear that Bites, the Fear that Drowns, and the Fear of Not Being Good Enough

by sweetNsimple



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aquaphobia - fear of water, Communication Failure, Cynophobia - fear of dogs, Discussing your issues like adults is hard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Leon S. Kennedy is a good bro, Leon Sassy Kennedy, Leon is lovingly referred to as Leon Slut Kennedy by his boyfriend, M/M, Piers Nivans Lives, Post-Resident Evil: Vendetta, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and he likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: Chris’s arm was thrown over Piers’ shoulders and the smaller man’s head rested on Chris’s chest. This was nice. This was quiet and calm and made Chris feel like, maybe, life could be good sometimes.“We should get a dog,” Piers said suddenly, without warning.Chris, shoved into a panic attack so fast he wasn’t sure if he was still breathing, blurted out, “We should break up.”Because, yeah. Chris Redfield really knew how to handle life.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Alexander "Sasha" Kozachenko, Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	The Fear that Bites, the Fear that Drowns, and the Fear of Not Being Good Enough

Chris Redfield and his boyfriend Piers Nivans were peacefully watching _Back to the Future_ , Chris’s arm thrown over Piers’ shoulders and the smaller man’s head resting on Chris’s chest. This was nice. This was quiet and calm and made Chris feel like, maybe, life could be good sometimes.

“We should get a dog,” Piers said suddenly, without warning.

Chris, shoved into a panic attack so fast he wasn’t sure if he was still breathing, blurted out, “We should break up.”

Piers was… understandably upset.

~::~

The thing was that Chris used to be a dog person pre-1998 – before the Alpha squad descended into Raccoon Forest, looking for the remnants of S.T.A.R.S Bravo Team, and Chris watched one of his comrades get eaten by a pack of zombie Dobermans. That pack had chased him, Jill, and Albert – that fucking _traitor_ – all the way to a manor in the middle of nowhere (and, really? The fact that the mansion still had all its utilities, electricity, and running water, and yet was totally abandoned by the _living_ should have been his first clue that it was all a trap) and had guarded the doors like the surviving members of the Alpha squad were prisoners.

Chris had opened that front door for a moment, _just a fucking moment_ , to see if Jill and Albert had gone back outside after he went back to the foyer and found them both missing and –

All of the canine cadavers had been there, pacing. One had leaped inside before he could shut the door, had come at him with wild, white eyes and blood dripping from flesh-rearing teeth, and Chris still… _still_ had the scars across his arms, across his chest, over his calves, from fighting those dogs. Even later, when he had to find the imitation key just so he could get the armor manor key, and he had to face off against the dogs _again_ , they had torn at him. If it hadn’t been Albert’s sick plan all along to test their abilities and had _cordially_ supplied them with medical spray and green herbs all over the manor, Chris would have fucking died and been dog chow.

And, fuck, even _recently_ , shit!

He watched those fucking zombie dogs jump out of the van and kill Damien, one of his team members. He stood back and watched them chase after Leon, confident that Leon would be able to survive them and also confident that he would never see Leon again because those dead Dobermans were the stuff of his nightmares and, in his dreams, they _always_ got Chris down to the ground and they _always_ tore him apart and he _always_ screamed as he woke up, and –

And.

And, just.

 _Fuck_.

Dogs.

Chris had adjusted his day-to-day life to keep himself away from dogs. His apartment building in Long Island had a private gym and a no-pet policy. He had figured out a long time ago that he couldn’t jog in the nearby park because of the risk of coming across dog walkers with their overly friendly smiles and their, _“It’s okay, you can pet them, they’re friendly”_ sentiments every time he jumped back from their four-legged ball of sunshine and lolling tongue.

Chris hated those dog owners the most, as if they really believed that everyone in the world wanted to pet their fucking deathtrap of an mutt.

The problem here wasn’t that Chris had suddenly stopped loving Piers with his whole heart, but that Chris had… never told Piers about how he felt toward dogs. Chris had so artfully dedicated his life to avoiding all contact with the species that it just never came up. Chris had learned how to avoid the military dogs, the police dogs, the emotional support dogs, the service dogs, the fucking _stray_ dogs – all before Piers ever joined his team. The occasional mishap where a dog found Chris had perhaps led Piers to believe that the captain was _indifferent_ at best, as Chris always managed to walk right past a wildly wagging tail and hopeful eyes without a second glance, but the truth of the matter was that the sight of any dog made Chris’s hands damp and his heart uptick.

So. The problem.

It was Chris. Chris was the problem, like usual. Piers was… Piers was his ray of hope, his reminder that they _could_ pull through, that they could survive and beat the odds. When Piers had washed up on the shore of Lanshiang and Dr. Rebecca Chambers had taken him under her wing, working tirelessly to find a cure and return the man as close to human as possible, Chris had really started to believe in miracles. Piers was returned to him, minus an eye and an arm, thick scar tissue on the right side of his body, and gloriously _alive_. Chris hadn’t even expected that much. Piers got fitted for a prosthetic and Rebecca tweaked around as she realized that the vague remnants of the virus in Piers’ system allowed her and a team of surgeons to connect the prosthetic directly to Piers nervous system, giving him total control of his artificial limb to the point of being able to exercise minute fine motor skills.

It took months of physical therapy, but Piers eventually got the hang of his new life. He could never go back to being a sniper, true – however, the BSAA had taken him on as an instructor and Piers somehow managed to talk his way into low-risk missions against all odds.

Chris was with him every step of the way, the two getting closer and closer until Piers one day grabbed him by the back of his neck and reeled him in, pulled him down, and –

Well. Turned out Piers preferred coconut-flavored lip gloss and that was why his mouth was also so shiny and slick-looking. Chris may or may not have becoming addicted to the taste.

Life had been good. Chris had been loved. Piers was alive.

Now Chris was a dumbass and Piers was still alive, but Chris was likely to never be allowed to kiss him again.

He hated that the first thing out of his mouth was that they should break up. He should have tried to use some adult language, some open communication, like, _“Hey, Piers, honey, love of my life, can we consider other pet options? Dogs terrify the living shit out of me because of the life I have had.”_

Piers would have said, _“Chris, babe, of course we can consider other options. I’m not going to bring a dog into our home if it scares you. Birds that talk are cool.”_

And Chris would say, _“Ravens tried to kill Rebecca once. And Claire, now that I think about it. If we get a bird, they might never visit again.”_

And Piers would think and mutter, _“What animal hasn’t tried to kill us or our friends?”_

And Chris would hem and haw and suggest, lightly, _“Turtles are cool. Ferrets are cute. Never met a cat that sided with bioterrorism over a cane of tuna.”_

Yeah, that would have been a great conversation to have. Except it didn’t happen because Chris was fucking _weak_ and an _idiot_ and he was going to die alone because he was too fucking proud to say, _“I’m afraid of dogs”_ to the love of his life.

Instead, what happened was that Chris said they should break up. Piers instantly tried to understand what was wrong like a good, open-minded boyfriend even as Chris grabbed his keys and wallet and walked right out the door, Piers getting steadily angrier behind him.

Because, yeah. Chris Redfield really knew how to handle life.

There were a number of people Chris could go to in order to talk about this. He thought of Jill Valentine, one of his best friends – except that wasn’t what he wanted. Piers would call there and Jill would take his side over Chris’s because she once called a Tyrant a bitch and she’d call Chris one too if she knew he was running away from communicating his fears and anxiety with his boyfriend. That also crossed out Carlos because the two lived together. He could call Claire, but she’d get sympathetic and gentle and tell him she understood why he had done what he had done, but he needed to talk to Piers –

She was too good for him right now. Also, Piers would _definitely_ call her, which… would not end well for Chris as she would then proceed to light up his phone.

Chris glanced at the device as he had the thought.

Oh, yeah. Piers had definitely already called Claire _and_ Jill; he had a slew of messages from the both of them and Clare was currently calling. Thank God Chris had his phone on mute. He let the call end on its own, a notification telling him just how many times people had failed to get in contact with him.

There were also messages from D.C., Nadia, Sheva, Sherry, Rebecca, and – who the _hell_ gave Jake Muller his phone number? The bastard had only sent one text and Chris bet it said, ‘ _Call Piers, asshole’_ , but he didn’t view it to check. Like a tree branch, Piers had called Claire and Jill, and the two women had likely reached out to everyone else Chris had ever talked to.

Maybe walking out and not telling anyone where he was going hadn’t been a good idea, given that he had once disappeared from a hospital with amnesia and gone missing for six months. They were probably going to start searching for him soon.

The problem was that he wasn’t ready to be found.

Chris thought fast. His mind was whirring out of control, panic taking hold again as he realized that he _didn’t want to be found_ , not like this, but everyone was worried. He was doing that, he was scaring the people he cared for because he couldn’t have this _one fucking talk_ with his boyfriend.

Before he could even understand what was happening, he was crouched on a street corner and wheezing.

His phone lit up with one more text message, a different contact.

It was Leon. The text said, _‘Clear called1 Wfat tge hell?’_ as if Leon had mashed his fingers against his keyboard and autocorrect had given up on him.

Without thinking, he pressed the call button.

A woman’s voice warned him that he was calling out of the country and certain rates may apply. Would he like to continue the call? No, not really, he thought. He did anyway.

Leon answered after a beat. _“Redfield?”_ His voice was heavy and annoyed.

“He wants a dog,” Chris gasped. “Piers wants a _dog_.”

Leon didn’t give two fucks about Chris’s feelings _and_ he understood how fucking awful dogs were.

Chris leaned his back against a grimy brick wall, ignoring people steering well clear of him as they hurried past.

 _“Well, fuck,”_ Leon said, relief in his voice. _“Tell_ him _that, then. Do you know how late it is right now?”_

“It’s…” Chris had no idea how long he had been wandering around, lost in thought. He looked at his wristwatch and found he had only been gone for an hour. “It’s only 8.” He glanced at the sky. “Sun’s still out.” It was July and the evening was warm and humid. His shirt clung wetly to his back and armpits.

 _“I’m not in the States right now,”_ Leon groused. _“It’s 4 in the morning here.”_

Chris was calming down as he managed to focus on the sound of Leon’s whining. “You’re on a mission right now?”

 _“No, I’m on vacation. They keep getting interrupted, though. Can’t imagine who I have to blame for that_ this _time.”_

“We needed you to help us save the world,” he grumbled, thinking of the _last_ time Leon’s vacation was interrupted.

_“Yeah, that’s what they always say to make you feel special. Then it’s wam, bam, thank you, bitch.”_

“That is not accurate.”

_“You assholes didn’t even drop me back off at my hotel, you stranded me in Long Island.”_

“Your hotel was a crime scene!”

_“My stuff was still there!”_

There was a murmur on Leon’s side. A thick, sleep-syrupy voice said something Chris could not make out. Leon whispered back, _“No, it’s fine. I’m not going anywhere. My friend’s just being a TOTAL DUMBASS!”_ Leon made sure to yell that last part right into Chris’s ear.

Damn, maybe Chris should have just sucked it up and talked to Jill.

“You think we’re friends?” he asked, surprised.

There was a pause. Leon replied, voice suddenly unsure and small for such a proud and strong man, _“Aren’t we? After everything we’ve gone through?”_

Chris swallowed thickly. “I’d like to think so. You don’t seem to like me much, though.”

 _“I like you just fine, Redfield. Chris.”_ Leon sighed tiredly. _“It’s just that your people skills are awful. Piers wants a dog? Tell him I’m terrified of dogs and he’ll never see me again if he gets one.”_

“That won’t work,” Chris said, though he was touched Leon was willing to lie for Chris like that. “Piers, uh…”

 _“Doesn’t like me? Fine, tell him the opposite. I fucking_ love _dogs and if he gets one, he’ll never get rid of me. I’ll put his dog in Christmas sweaters and feed it peanut butter straight from the jar. I’ll call it_ my cutesy wootsy _.”_

Chris threw his head back, a roar of laughter shocked free of his tight chest. His skull cracked against the brick and he flinched back, hand rubbing at the sore spot. He continued to chuckle through the pain. “I’m sorry, your _what_?”

 _“My cutesy wootsy.”_ There was laughter on his side of the phone as well, but not Leon’s. He was with another man. A lover? A friend? He said it was 4 in the morning and it didn’t sound like he was in a bar. Leon continued, voice deadpan, _“My very best doggo, my adorable little woofer.”_

Chris _giggled_ , knuckles smushed against his mouth as he listened to DSO agent Leon Scott Kennedy babytalk in a high-pitched, sugar-sweet voice.

The humor eventually tapered off. Leon yawned in the background and another man’s voice said, now close enough to hear, _“Should I make coffee?”_

 _“No,”_ Leon replied softly. _“Stay right here with me.”_

The other man scoffed with what Chris thought was affection, voice getting even closer as if he was cuddling up to Leon. _“You do not tell_ me _what to do, Leon Slut Kennedy.”_

Chris fucking _choked_. “ _What_ did he just call you?” he barked, shooting to his feet. “Do I need to kick someone’s ass, Kennedy?”

Now, _now_ Leon lost it. His dry, breathy laugh sounded almost painful, like he hadn’t laughed in years and his body was panicking as it tried to compute humor. His laughter drifted away and there were noises of the phone being handled and dropped and then picked up.

A new voice answered, accented and thick. _“Leon Slut Kennedy is currently indisposed. May I take a message?”_

“Hey! He is one of the best men I know, a fucking warrior and a hero. I will _not_ listen to anyone disrespect him, especially some –”

The man was laughing at him.

Of course Leon would be sleeping with a total asshole.

_“Give me the phone, Alexander, before he decides he’s going to kill you.”_

_“I have decided that I like this man.”_

_“Yeah. Chris is a good guy. Phone, now.”_

_“Rude,”_ said Alexander. _“You should say please. Have I taught you no matters?”_

The phone was exchanged again.

 _“Piers has never called you a slut before?”_ was the first thing Leon asked.

“No, I like to think that our relationship is based on mutual respect and a lack of name-calling.”

_“That I don’t believe. There’s no way he’s lived with you this long and avoided calling you a dumbass.”_

“Well – alright, yeah, there’s some name-calling.”

_“I’m going to say this once and if you ever use it against me, they will never find your body – got it?”_

“Sure, Leon, you give that a shot. Good luck with that.”

Leon gave a sarcastic little laugh. _“Alexander is allowed to call me a slut, okay?”_

In the background, Alexander added lewdly, _“Among other things.”_

 _“Shut up,”_ Leon hissed. Then, to Chris, _“We have adult conversations where we discuss what we do and don’t like with each other. Do you see what I’m getting at?”_

“That the S. apparently stands for Slut and not Scott?” Chris wheezed, hand rubbing his forehead. “Your sex life is a lot stranger than I already thought it was?”

 _“You’re not Alexander,_ you _do not call me a slut. And stop trying to imagine what my sex life is like.”_

 _“It is thriving and filthy,”_ Alexander added helpfully. 

Leon sighed, as if _Chris_ was the frustrating one _. “What I’m saying is that he opened his mouth, and I opened my mouth, and noises were produced that we used to communicate our thoughts and wants”_

“Could you make it sound a little less like you think I’m five?”

 _“Chris,”_ Leon began, serious now. _“Our lives have been hell. We’ve seen and done things that have made a normal life impossible for us. For you, that means no family dog. It means keeping your problems close to your chest because you’re BSAA Captain Chris Redfield and the world depends on you to stay strong and not be afraid. The one time you left, the BSAA tracked you down like a criminal and shoved you right back into a war you could only half-remember because they couldn’t function without you, and that responsibility you feel you have to every living thing left on this planet makes it hard for you to depend on others. You can do teamwork as long as you’re the team leader and you can take risks as long as it’s you on the frontlines but telling the love of your life that there’s something you are genuinely_ terrified _of…”_ Leon sucked in a deep, shaky breath. Again, Alexander murmured something, something soothing this time, and Chris could hear a light smack of skin on skin as if Leon had just been kissed.

 _“Hell, Chris,”_ Leon groaned. _“It’s hard. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve done and it’s going to be just as hard if not harder for you. But it’s worth it. You can talk to Piers or you can lose him. I know it feels like he’ll leave either way. I’ve seen how he looks at you and I can promise you he won’t. More likely, he’ll start opening up to you too. It’s probably not easy for him to tell you what he’s afraid of when his partner is the legendary Captain Chris Redfield who punches boulders and has the physical mass of a tank.”_

Alexander added, incredulously, _“Really? A_ tank _? This man is the size of a_ tank _? Perhaps I_ should _stop calling you a slut.”_

Leon growled, _“Chris doesn’t control my love life, I get what I want.”_

_“Not with that attitude. You have to be nice to me to get what you want.”_

There was another light smack of skin on skin, another kiss.

They were making Chris homesick. 

“I only punched a boulder once,” Chris murmured, staring up at a blue sky with thickening clouds. A storm was brewing. “Why does everyone know about that and why won’t anyone let it go?”

 _“You. Punched. A._ Boulder _, Chris. What were you thinking?”_

“It worked.”

_“Because you have the physical mass of a tank, yeah.”_

“Piers has high standards for me,” he admitted. “Not about my – fuck, I’m not a tank, okay? What I mean is he… might not like knowing that anything from a teacup Chihuahua to an English Mastiff can scare the living shit out of me.”

“Is _that_ the fucking problem?”

That voice had not come through the phone.

Chris glanced to the side, a rising wave of terror washing through him. Piers was braced in the middle of the sidewalk like he was ready to stop a tsunami by himself. A couple a few feet behind him turned right on their heels and went back the way they came while a lady paused and was very unsuccessful in hiding the fact that she was recording this.

He had a hysterical moment where he realized she was going to upload Piers breaking up with him on Youtube for everyone to see.

Chris licked his lips nervously.

 _“Chris?”_ Leon said into his ear, making him flinch.

“Who’s that?” Piers demanded to know. “I call you _five times_ , and you’re on the phone with someone else? Please tell me it’s Claire at least, or Jill, and they’re getting through to you. You ran away because you don’t want a _dog_ , Chris? Fuck – _fine_. Fine! Then we don’t get a dog! Why did you run instead of telling me?”

“Piers found me,” Chris choked.

_“You sound like you’re about to piss your pants.”_

“I might.”

Piers snarled and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with his flesh hand, dragging him into a nearby alley. The lady with the phone continued to clandestinely try and fail to follow their argument.

Piers snatched the phone from Chris’s hand. “Who is this?!” The look he gave Chris when Leon must have introduced himself was a cross between fury and consternation, as if he could not for the life of him understand why the two men would ever speak and especially at that moment. Piers held the phone away from his ear to hiss, “You called _Leon_ , but you wouldn’t talk to your _sister_?”

Chris shrugged helplessly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time and… and it was.” He took his phone back from Piers and brought it to his ear. “Hey, Leon. I have to have an adult conversation with my boyfriend now. Thank you for talking to me.”

 _“Good luck, Redfield,”_ Leon said. _“Don’t let Piers kill you.”_ There was a rustle of blankets and Leon’s lover added,

_“Try calling your boy a slut. This works very well for Leon.”_

_“God damnit, Alexander,_ no _. Chris, I swear, Alexander is a good man, he’s just grumpy –”_

Chris chuckled nervously as he hung up. With Piers this mad, calling him a slut might really be the last thing Chris ever did.

Piers was taking deep breaths, eye closed, and Chris let him have a moment to center himself while he tried to gather his words. Standing in a filthy alley in Long Island, New York while some stranger recorded the whole thing wasn’t how he wanted to do this –

Piers’ eye snapped open and the look he gave the woman, scarred and battered beauty making him look fierce and deadly, made her trip over her heels as she tried to do a sharp around-about turn away from perceived danger.

Okay, that took care of the stranger.

Piers was… somewhat gentler when he finally turned back to Chris.

Chris rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his dry throat. He had to do it two more times before he finally opened his mouth, feeling like a fist was squeezing around his neck. Air escaped him and no words.

Piers sighed and wrapped both hands around Chris’s upper arms. “Focus on me, Chris,” he said. “Just on me. Talk to me.”

“Dogsscarethelivingshitoutofme,” he wheezed on one low, stuttering breath. Piers frowned at him without interrupting, which was okay. Chris licked his lips and leaned in close, trying to make a bubble only big enough for the two of them, where the outside world couldn’t listen to BSAA Captain Chris Redfield admit that there was something mundane and innocent that he was absolutely terrified of. “In Raccoon Forest, 1998, I encountered zombie dogs for the first time. They ate one of my friends in front of me and Jill, and I was just barely in time to stop one of them from killing Jill too. When Albert tricked us into that – fucking manor, that deathtrap, the dogs waited outside… I couldn’t escape, there were too many of them. And, and I know you’ve seen the scars. I know you know that those Dobermans tore fucking chunks out of me, but I could never tell you that those Dobermans have fucked me over for every dog breed in the world. I used to have a neighbor, before you were even in the BSAA, and she had this tiny little lapdog. Miniscule little rat, and it would bark and bark all fucking day and night, and I’d _cry_ in bed, Piers. Every time that tiny little lapdog barked, I could hear those Dobermans baying.” His hands were trembling.

Chris sobbed. “I never wanted you to know,” he admitted, and his face was hot and Piers was being distorted by tears wavering in Chris’s eyes, and he felt so fucking _weak_ and _undeserving_. It was always Piers who saw him at his absolute worst, Piers who had already gone through too much shit and shouldn’t have to deal with Chris’s on top of it. Piers deserved so much better and all Chris could give him was his PTSD.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he wheezed. He pinched his nose with shaking fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t, we can’t – if you want to stay with me, we can’t have a dog. There will never be a dog if you stay with me.”

“And my happiness is more important than yours, right?” Piers said. His hands traveled up, both titanium and flesh – Chris just then noticed that Piers had left the house without his gloves, a sure sign that Piers had left in a hurry. He hated having people stare at his titanium arm, was exhausted by kids asking if he was the Winter Soldier from the Marvel Cinematic Universe – and he cupped Chris’s tear-stained face in them. Thumbs brushed away wetness and titanium warmed against his skin. “It’s easier to say we should break up than tell me there’s something I can’t have when I’m with you, is that it?”

Chris shook his head, hands coming up and wrapping gingerly around Piers’ wrists. “I didn’t want you to know that I’m scared of something that normal people get to love.”

“Guess what, Chris? We’re not normal and I _know_ that. You know that. Chris, I…” The smaller man bit his bottom lip. His jaw was tense as he shook his head sharply, _‘get it over with’_ written in his very body language, and he told Chris in a low, gravelly voice, “Do you know why I won’t go with you to Claire’s? Because she lives by the coast, where you can hear the ocean roll up on the beach and the seagulls screaming and I hate that. I spent months under the waves, the very last human part of me feeling like I was always drowning and never dying while the monster I had become ate sharks and dolphins. I felt like I was trapped there for an _eternity_ until I could handle the pain, the instincts to keep eating, long enough to get to land because all I could think of was that I needed to get out of the water. Chris – I hate the ocean. I hate baths. I hate _water_. You know why I keep Spotify playing while I’m in the shower? So I can hear something besides the water. You know why I never shower with you? Because I don’t want you to see me get in and out as fast as I possibly can because some part of me is terrified that if I stay in there, if I stay in the water too long – ” he choked. Stole a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I’m scared – .” He made a frustrated snarling noise and scowled to the side.

After a long minute, Piers asked, “You ever watch _Pirates of the Caribbean_ , the one with the mermaids?”

“I… yeah, I think so.” That was random, but Chris tried to follow along. “Years ago, I think.”

“There is this scene where the cage they’re keeping the mermaid in shatters and she flops out. She struggles for a bit but then she grows legs where her tail was and she is able to walk as long as she doesn’t touch water. When they put her back in water, she became a mermaid again. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah?”

Piers stared at him pointedly, breathing hard.

“Oh,” Chris said. “You think that… you’ll change back if you stay in the water too long?”

Piers stepped closer, arms around Chris’s shoulders. “You’re scared of something?” he said into Chris’s chest. “So am I. Next time you’re scared of something, you better fucking talk it out with me instead of saying we should break up and running away like a little bitch.”

“That’s… Yeah. Yeah, that’s more than I deserve. Are we, are we not breaking up?”

“No, Chris, we are not breaking up. I will break your knees before I let you think that I would choose adopting a dog over loving you for the rest of my life.”

Chris huffed, amused and relieved and terrified and feeling so many things all at once. “That’s violent,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Piers and holding him tight. “I’m sorry, Piers. I should have stayed and talked it out. Babe,” he announced, giving it a shot, “dogs scare the shit out of me and I don’t think it would be a good idea to adopt one.”

Piers pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I don’t need a dog. I’ve already got a bear.”

“Did you just call me – ”

“I like talking birds,” Piers announced. “I think you’d look cute with a parrot on your shoulder.”

Chris chuckled. “Ah, we might want to avoid birds. Claire and Rebecca have had some bad experiences with ravens.” Now that he thought back to 1998, his experiences with ravens hadn’t been great either. Then again, he wasn’t actually nervous around birds.

“Can we think of an animal that hasn’t tried to kill us or anyone we know?”

“Turtles,” Chris said instantly, having already had this conversation in his mind. “Funnily enough, the only hamster that bit me was totally healthy and it belonged to Claire when we were children. Ferrets and cats are other options.”

“No turtles,” Piers decided. His flesh hand rubbed at Chris’s chest. “I prefer fur.”

Chris sputtered, red in the face again, as Piers smirked. “We can keep brainstorming and ask our friends for suggestions,” the smaller man decided. “Since we are _not breaking up_ and we are going to be adults and practice _open communication_. Right, _Chris_?”

Every other word from his mouth was a threat on Chris’s life and the larger man fully recognized this.

“Open communication,” he agreed, nodding faithfully. “No breaking up. I love you?”

“Yes, you do. Do not make me chase you down a third time, I swear I will let you get lost for good if you do.” Piers paused and then his tone gentled. “I love you, too, Chris. It’s okay that there are things you are afraid of. I’m not going to leave you just because you’re human like the rest of us. You’re allowed to be afraid.”

“Yeah,” Chris agreed without conviction, looking away.

“Are you going to leave me because I hate water?”

“What? No! Fuck, Piers, I would never – ”

“Hold me to the standards you hold yourself,” Piers demanded. “If you won’t leave me, then believe that I won’t leave you.”

“You won’t leave me,” Chris repeated. He kissed Piers long and slow, warm and familiar and still tasting like the popcorn they had been eating during their movie. “I love you, and I’m sorry I said what I said.”

“You should be… but I’m not angry anymore.”

“Really? That was fast.”

“Yeah, Chris, you just cried on me while you talked about your traumatic past in a public alleyway. I decided to forgive you the moment you said teacup chihuahuas scared you, it just took me a few more minutes to calm down.”

Chris made a note to himself that crying apparently got him out of trouble.

Out loud, he said, “Thank you for opening up to me, Piers. I could tell it wasn’t easy. That was brave of you and I respect you a lot for taking that chance.”

“You say shit like that and then act like you don’t deserve to be treated with just as much respect and _that_ is what pisses me off, Chris.” Piers gave him one final squeeze. “Let’s go home, babe.”

Home with the love of his life. Chris smiled. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment? 
> 
> I recently started playing Resident Evil 1 as Chris Redfield and I noticed that, unlike in Resident Evil 0, there was nothing blocking the front doors of the manor. Out of curiosity, I went to open them to see if I was just allowed to leave. I kid you the fuck not, the Dobermans that chased us to the manor were all waiting outside the front door. One of them got inside before the door could shut them out and it fucking KILLED ME. Later, there was a puzzle where I had to obtain an imitation key for reasons and it was in the collar of one of the fucking Dobermans and I had to summon it with a dog whistle. TWO FUCKING DOBERMANS came at me and kept pushing me down and trying to rip my throat out. RESIDENT EVIL IS THE REASON PEOPLE ARE SCARED OF DOBERMANS, CAPCOM. And then I remembered the dogs in Resident Evil: Vendetta and I thought, 'This is good grounds for some overwhelming dog-induced PTSD.' And then Piers' aquaphobia snuck in there at the end.


End file.
